


Broken

by CeceChilton



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Chilton Being an Asshole, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Flashbacks, I really don't know how to tag these things, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lonely Will, M/M, Plot may change with season 3, Post Season 2, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Will trying to get over Hannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeceChilton/pseuds/CeceChilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham was a broken man. </p><p>With Hannibal gone, Will now has to recover from his past. Who knew that help would come in the form of Frederick Chilton?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will Graham was a broken man.

* * * * * 

It was a usual morning in the Graham household. Will awoke with a startled gasp, pulling himself up roughly from his drenched sheets with his arm grasped around his stomach. He felt like his entire being was on fire. Burning. He drew in deep breaths, the pain shooting from his midsection down his legs and across his chest. He threw back his covers and stumbled to the kitchen, taking care not to step on any tails or paws along the way. 

A tall glass of water and a handful of pills choked down later, he found himself standing back over his drowned bed. He was still painfully tired. He had only managed a few hours sleep – more than normal, but still not enough to leave him feeling sated. He never felt sated.

It had been three months since that night at Hannibal's home – but it still played fresh in his mind. Will had worked since his release from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane to grow close to the man who had framed him, in an attempt to earn his trust enough to bring him down. His plan however, had failed. Hannibal had seen right through him. He had held Will close, before gutting him and leaving him for dead as he fled the country. 

He had survived though, although in the grips of night he sorely wished death had taken him. Jack and Alana had both survived that night alongside him – both sustaining near-fatal injuries. Jack was now back on his feet, back in the BAU where he would undoubtedly always remain. Alana was not as fortunate, and was bound to a wheelchair, all use of her legs gone. And then there was Abigail.

Oh how he was haunted by Abigail. 

Sleep rarely found him – every time he closed his eyes the vision of her bleeding out in his arms swam before him. The smell of blood still held strong in his nose, causing him to gag. He would watch with wide eyes as hers fluttered shut, never to open again. He would feel her grow cold in his arms, and feel his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. He would be ripped from his occasional slumber sweating and sore, the scar on his stomach tight and knotted with his exerted breath. 

He shook all remnants of his dream from his head, making quick work of the soaked sheets before heading into the bathroom. He bypassed the mirror without a glance, not wanting to start the day seeing his unshaven sunken face, eyes dull above dark circles, hair untamed and unruly. He took much longer in the shower than normal, letting the water fall over his lean frame as if it had the power to heal him, body and mind. His hands skimmed over skin, never going near the thick scar stretching from hip to hip. He had accepted that it was there, but there were too many painful memories attached to it for now. 

After his shower and a quick breakfast, he found himself standing on his porch watching as his dogs bounded around in the gardens outside. He was thankful for their company – in the few weeks since his release from hospital, they had been his only company. He had not returned to work as a lecturer at the bureau, and he certainly wasn't helping to put anyone behind bars. 

Not that there were many monsters as dangerous as Hannibal to worry about. 

He spent the rest of the day pottering around the house doing odd chores with a trail of dogs following him from room to room. He still had enough money set aside from his work with Jack to keep him going for a while so his days were his to do with as he pleased. Most of his time was now spent fixing old boat engines to sell on for spare cash to renovate his house – a task he felt necessary to full put the past behind him and make a new start in his life. 

By the time night fell, Will felt dead on his feet. His lack of sleep the night before coupled with his day up on his feet had left him drained, more so than usual. He dragged his hand over his face as he moved into the kitchen to the counter where his medications sat. He sifted through the bottles, finding his painkillers and sleeping aides. Noticing that his prescriptions were almost empty, he made a note to stop by the pharmacy the next day to replenish. He could always visit Alana while he was at it. 

That night, he fell into a fitful sleep – hoping that tonight would be the night that his nightmares would end. But deep down he knew that it would never happen. 

* * * * *

“Don't worry, I won't be long,” Will said quietly, rubbing Winston behind his ear. He now spent so much time with his dogs that they had separation issues: whenever he would try to leave they would all crowd around him, blocking his way to his car. 

Winston rubbed his wet nose into Will's palm before lapping at his fingers. Will faintly smiled, and with one last scratch behind the ears, he bundled into his car and began the hour long journey into Baltimore. 

He didn't have many errands to run while in town: he stopped first at the grocery store to pick up a few items that he had run low on, followed by the pet store to purchase several large bags of dog food, and lastly on his list came his visit to the drug store. 

There was already a small group of people at the counter, all waiting patiently for their turn. He joined the back of the group with his head low, allowing his thoughts to roam unhindered. Present but not present – the way he spent most of his time outside of his home. Minutes trickled by, and with it people trickled in and out of the door. He would have been happy to stew in his own mind, but a ruckus at the counter pulled him from his thoughts; some dishevelled looking man leaning heavily on a cane was crowding over the desk shouting at the girl to hurry up with his meds. Even from this side of the room, Will could smell the strong scent of alcohol. 

He was about to fade back into himself when the girl brought his attention straight back to the man. 

“I'm sorry Mr Chilton, but you'll have to wait like everyone else,” she said with waning patience. 

Chilton. Frederick Chilton. It couldn't be. No one had heard from him in months, and this form in ripped jeans and faded hoodie was far from the well-kept man he knew. He watched with bated breath as the man turned from the counter with another complaint on his lips. Will noticed the scar before anything else – a gaping red indent taking over the side of his face – followed by the dark circles beneath his red rimmed eyes. The same eyes that had now made contact with his own. 

An eerie silence seemed to hang over the pair as recognition flitted over both their faces. Will expelled the breath that he had been holding as his thoughts went into overdrive. This was the last man he wanted to see; a man just as haunted by Hannibal as he was. But Frederick was that only person he felt would understand him. Someone who had been manipulated by Hannibal, framed by Hannibal, hurt by Hannibal. His time of solitude with no one but his dogs suddenly hit him like a punch in the gut; he was lonely. 

With a short boost of confidence, he made to step forward to confront Frederick. Unfortunately the other man had anticipated this. Frederick pulled his eyes from Will, and with a quiet mumble to the girl that he would return later, he stumbled out of the drug store without so much as a backwards glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming back to this after an abnormal amount of time being inactive. Running over both chapters to fix some minor mistakes before delving right back into the story!


	2. Chapter 2

“It was him Alana!” Will exclaimed, running his hands through his hair. He kept his eyes focused out of the window instead of the bewildered form behind him. 

“Alright, I believe you.” She clasped her hands over her lap as she regarded a flustered Will by the window. In the months since the incident at the Lecter household, he had visited regularly, but spoke very little - she had never seen him so agitated. He usually quietly took to a seat and asked how she was recovering. 

She knew he felt guilty for the events that had transpired that night, although she held guilt of her own. Will had spent so long trying to convince everyone of Hannibal's crimes, and yet no one had listened. Her least of all. And at the cost of what? Her legs? 

In truth Alana hadn’t adjusted at all, still struggling to come to terms with her situation. Paralysed from the waist down, she would be bound to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Most days she would lie in bed and mourn for her loss of freedom, held down by a dense cloud of self-doubt and negativity. She would only attempt to make an effort on the days she knew Will would be visiting - she didn’t want him to feel more guilt than he already did. 

“What am I going to do?”

“Why do you have to do anything, Will? I thought you hated Frederick.”

“I do hate him... I dunno. I see too much of myself in him Alana.” Will's shoulders dropped, hands fisted at his sides. 

“The last time you saw yourself in someone, you were locked up for a crime you didn’t commit. Don’t fall under the same pretence with him.” There was a sharp edge in her voice. 

“Chilton is nothing like.. _him._ ” Will sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t want to talk about Hannibal now. Or ever. “Sure he’s selfish and conceited, but nothing like him. Besides, he looked bad. Real bad. I can’t just sit and do nothing. I won’t let him ruin his life like I’ve done mine.”

“You haven’t ruined your life,” she said quietly, her voice softening. “You got lost along the way, sure. Misguided by a maniac. But you’ve come so far now. Don’t throw it all away for nothing.”

* * * 

Her last words raced through his mind as he made his way back to Wolftrap. Don’t throw it all away for nothing. 

Why was he so concerned for this man? Chilton had been nothing but a thorn in his side – he had studied him, drugged him, humiliated him. So why did Will suddenly want to help him? 

‘A life is a life, none are worthless and all worth saving.’ An old saying from a previous cop buddy floated through his mind, filling his head with a soft, insistent buzzing. The tortured face of Frederick swam in front of his eyes, the pained look so alike his own. Will rubbed his fingers over his face and sighed.

It was decided. He would find Chilton. And he would help him. 

The next few days were spent in preparation - there was no point in leaving the comfort of his home without having some idea of what he was getting in to. It had been months since anyone had heard from him, and Will wouldn’t go in blind. He needed to know something, _anything_ , that would aid him. 

He booted up his old laptop and searched for anything related to the doctor, to find very little. Only one article stood out. 

_‘Disgraced Doctor released from custody’_

_Doctor Frederick Chilton, former head at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, has been released from FBI custody. Held under allegations of being the Chessapeake Ripper - some victims including Jeremy Olmstead and recovered FBI agent Miriam Lass - his release comes with the new found evidence against Doctor Hannibal Lecter, a fellow in the psychiatric field. An incident at Doctor Lecter’s home in which four members of the public were attacked; including one fatal casualty, and two injured FBI agents, has lead to a full investigation into all victims related to the Chessapeake Ripper. The case against Doctor Chilton in the mutilation and murder of former patient Abel Gideon had been suspended in light of new evidence found at the Lecter household._

He had known of course that Frederick had been released and cleared of all charges - it had been one of the first things he had asked upon his awakening at the hospital. He had never understood why he had asked, but in the end he had put it down to wanting to clear his conscience. He had found out then about the shooting, and the resulting facial scar Frederick had sustained at the hand of Miriam Lass. 

In a lot of ways he could understand how Frederick had fallen, but it didn’t stop the feeling of worry that was coursing through his veins. 

* * *

It had now been a week since his last visit to the drug store; he knew Frederick was (or at least had been) a man of routine, so if Will was going to see him again, it would be today. 

He left his home like usual; with a hoard of pining dogs at his feet and an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. The car journey into Baltimore was both far too quick and far too long; by the time he reached the drug store, the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach had turned to near-crippling nausea. He checked the time - an hour earlier than their meeting the week previously - and settled himself for the wait. He would stay in this seat until he caught sight of Frederick. 

“Where the hell is he,” Will muttered to himself, three hours having passed without event. Keeping his eyes on the front of the drug store, he fished his phone from his pocket. A quick glance down, a few buttons pressed, and Will had Frederick’s address pulled up on the screen. Starting up his car once again, he straightened in his seat before beginning the short journey to the address only a few streets away. 

He pulled up to the end of Frederick’s driveway and cursed loudly, slamming his hands onto the wheel in front of him. He stopped the engine and slipped from the car, pulling out his phone once again to double check the address. Yes, definitely the right house. 

He glanced up towards the house, constructed from sharp lines and clean white paint. Windows covered most of the walls, and the lawn was shorn to perfection. His eyes however were drawn back to the sign at the gate; a board atop a post with writing covered mostly by thick red letters. **SOLD.**

**Author's Note:**

> And so ends chapter two! Think it's a bit all over the place, but wanted to get some groundwork done before the main story begins. Next chapter will be the proper meeting between the boys! 
> 
> Please leave feedback! Til next time!


End file.
